My Real Life

Once there was a boy

Who met a girl

They got married and had a baby girl

And then a baby boy

And then another baby boy

And then another baby boy

The End.

Okay, I’m exaggerating.

Vacation wasn’t bad.

But, it didn’t quite turn out the way I had expected.

The skies eventually cleared and we were left with a beautiful few days at the beach.

Tiny proved to be a total beach bum and loved the sand and the water and the whole beach experience, but he’s also a little man who knows his limits.

“I all done beach, Mom” was all he had to say, and I packed him up and we headed back to the house.

Real Man stayed at the beach with Monkey Girl and Monkey in the Middle (because Baby Monkey wanted to be with me and if I was leaving, he was leaving) for many more hours, and Tiny, Baby and I would head back to the beach house.

I have a “no t.v. at the beach” rule (unless it’s a long, rainy day) so in getting back to the house, after showers, there were numerous games of “Guess Who,” making our own games, and because Baby Monkey travels nowhere without craft stuff, coloring and things to be created.

(flag courtesy of local library craft room…more about that later)

However, Tuesday, Monkey Girl forgot to reapply her sunblock, and her shoulders got quite a burn.

By Wednesday morning, they looked like this:

So, she stayed back at the beach house on Wednesday and she hung by herself until Tiny was “all done beach” for the day.

Thursday morning, Tiny woke me with calls around 7 am, which was new because he had been sleeping until 8:30 most days (which was fantastic!).

When I walked into his room, I was assaulted with the smell of old vomit, and I saw dried puke on his face and clothes.

Which terrified me, because, he clearly threw up in his sleep.

So, I got him out, stripped the crib, stripped him, cleaned him up and headed upstairs.

Monkey Girl came in and showed me that her shoulder was absolutely no better.

So, we waited until we were pretty sure that Tiny was done throwing up (my verdict is that last nights pizza was not agreeable with his system, because I’m typing this eight hours after he woke up and after throwing up mucous twice more before 9 am, he’s perfectly fine) we headed to the local Medical Center.

The verdict was that it was sun poisoning.  They gave her an antibiotic cream and told her to stay out of the sun for awhile, to take Ibuprofen for the low grade fever and swelling, and lay low.

So, my beach bunny who could spend all day (and night) on the beach, was banished to the beach house.

Not quite what she had planned, but she made the best of it.

Hung out with her cousins, read a book, did some writing, and was great about not complaining, even though she could have complained all she wanted and I wouldn’t have even blinked an eye, because she would have earned it.

So, I missed the beach for two days, as well, but I was happy to hang with my babies.

When they kids were doing their own thing, I was able to catch up on my own reading, do some writing for the blog, and do some laundry, which I actually like doing while on vacation because it’s less I have to do when I get home.

So, it definitely sounds like a vacation gone bad, but maybe I should have just said a vacation gone awry.

You gotta make the best of what you get, and things could always have been a lot worse.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Baby just told me it’s time for me to be fitted for my construction paper bathing suit.

So, as wonderful as it was to get to the beach with the family last week, the fact remained that the forecast for the week was grim.

Thunderstorms and rain were predicted for the entire week.

On Sunday, our first full day, the monkeys and I woke up early and ate breakfast.

By 7:30, they had already begun the “When are we going to the beach” routine, but I wasn’t quite there yet.

So, I persuaded them to go on my usual beach week morning walk with me.

It was a good walk.

Around 9:30, we couldn’t hold them off any longer, so under gray skies, we put on our suits, sunblocked up and hit the beach.

Monkey in the Middle and I immediately began our yearly paddle ball tournament.

Tiny and Baby Monkey immediately began digging in the sand.

Monkey Girl immediately began getting in the freezing water.

It was good.

And then it started to sprinkle.

But, everyone was so occupied, that they didn’t quite seem to notice the rain.

Yet.

Even when it started to rain in earnest, they kept going.

Monkey in the Middle and I said that THIS would be our moment.

That it would be like a movie, and in the rain we would make it to our highest number of paddleball volleys yet, despite the odds.

(We didn’t.)

Baby Monkey said that the rain would fill the hole that he and Tiny were digging so they could have their own pool.

(It didn’t.)

But it was fun.

We finally called it and headed back to the beach house, but after some lunch, the skies cleared and back down we went, this time joined by the rest of the extended family, so there were many more holes to dig, waves to catch, and games to be played.

We believe in a full beach day, so while Tiny called it at 5 (“I all done beach, Mama”) and I brought him back, Real Man and the big monkeys didn’t come back until closer to 6:30.

As I write this, it is 6:45 a.m. Monday July 1st, and I’m sitting on the deck of the beach house, and I can’t see the water through the fog, and the wind has almost blown my laptop off of my lap twice.

Yep…another great beach day.

It was a good week.

It was full of new discoveries, reconnecting, chaos, relaxation and general fun.

And, as I sat on the beach, watching the fireworks on July 4th, Tiny in my lap, surrounded by almost all of the 43 family members with whom we spent the week, I realized that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

(Me and one of my awesome nephews, Justin)

(In the amazing children’s room at the beach library…we have a thing with hitting every library in every town we visit…this one was top notch!)

(The beautiful home in which we stayed)

…they didn’t actually wait until I finally sat down before asking for a glass of milk…it’s just when they remembered they were thirsty

…they didn’t mean to smush them into the carpet…blueberries are roly-poly little buggers, hard for little fingers to hold, easy for little feet to step on while trying to pick them up

…even at 41, I get cranky when I’m tired, too

…they inherited that flash temper from someone and it wasn’t Real Man

…I don’t like everything I make for dinner, either

Last night was rough and I just need to remind myself that I’m the adult, sometimes, and that long days at the beach make for tired, grumpy kids around dinner time.  We yelled, we talked, we got through it, we moved on.

But I hate when we fight, even though I know it’s perfectly normal.  It just makes me sad because I remember being at the kid end of being yelled at and it never felt good.

So, I make my list of reminders and hope that next time I can reflect a little before jumping into the yelling.  Cuz that’s no fun for anyone.

So, I’ve been doing some thinking about the blog, and I realized that one of the things I enjoy about the blog is reading comments and answering questions.

I like the give and take.

For awhile, I was doing Truthful Tuesdays, where people asked questions and I answered, as the name suggests, each Tuesday.

Then, the questions dried up and I somehow fell away from it.

So, I thought, perhaps, I’d like to get it going again.

Some past Truthful Tuesday questions/topics were:

Injury or Illness?

How do you do it all? (In which I proved how I don’t, in fact, do it all)

Journaling

You can also click on the Category “Truthful Tuesday” in the right-hand side of the page to see more Truthful Tuesday questions and topics.

So, please, leave me a question you have or a topic you’d like to have me write about in the comments below.  I’m interested to see what you are interested in reading!

I’ve always said that I was going to age gracefully.

That I would welcome each laugh line as a sign of a happy life.

That I would cherish the wrinkles on my forehead as evidence that I was constantly surprised by a life well lived.

That I would embrace the gray hairs as they started to sprout from my head as a signal that I’ve lived and survived.

Until two days ago.

When I noticed more than a few gray hairs growing from my scalp.

Stuff just got real.

My superior thoughts about how I’d hold my head high as I aged began to flee one at a time, as I combed through my hair and found about five silver strands mixed in with the blonde.

“How soon can I get an appointment?” I wondered.

“Should I just pick up some Sun-In in the meantime and try to do a home fix?”

I combed my hair back and forth over my scalp, adjusting the lights to see if more appeared in brighter or dimmer light, trying to see if there were more to the left or the right, seeing if I could hide them in a ponytail.

“Hey Mom.  Watcha doin’?” Monkey in the Middle asked as he walked in the bathroom (because, as we’ve established, nowhere in my home is sacred “Me” space).

“Just looking at my hair…I found some gray hairs on my head.  Soon enough, my whole head of hair will be silver.”

“Wow…I bet that’s going to be really pretty, Mom.”

I put down the comb and looked at this boy who was looking at me earnestly.

Not trying to butter me up for anything.

Not realizing that I was even feeling angst over the grays.

Simply stating what he believed to be fact.

I’m not saying that his statement completely wiped away any anxiety I may have had over those silver strands.

I’m not saying that I don’t take closer looks at my scalp when I’m getting ready in the morning.

What I am saying is that I put down that comb, hugged that boy, said “Thank you, sweetie…I bet it will,” and started thinking about all of the beautiful women I know with full heads of silvery white hair.

And I realized that in the eyes of those that matter most, the color of my hair really isn’t important.

Good thing to know, since my hairdresser didn’t have an available appointment for two weeks.

The monkeys and I recently finished watching the entire series of Dr. Who.

We watched what was available on Netflix and then finished up the last season on Vimeo.

This has left a bit of a gap in my British telly fix.

Downton Abbey, Dr. Who…all making me wait until the fall.

So, I asked around, and Michaela suggested that I might want to try Sherlock, another BBC show.

I’m a huge fan of mysteries, loved Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original Holmes stories, and am in the market for something new.

The problem is that I tried to watch Elementary, which is the latest American attempt at covering the Sherlock Holmes character.

I found it utterly unwatchable.

I felt that there was no chemistry between Holmes (Jonny Lee Miller) and Watson (Lucy Liu).

I also did not like this rendition of the character of Sherlock Holmes whatsoever.

There was nothing redeemable about him.

Sherlock Holmes is a genius and is supposed to be a bit of a snob.

However, genius without personality is nothing more than annoying, and this Holmes just came off as an enormous jerk.

So, although Michaela and I are generally telly buddies, I was hesitant to give Sherlock a try.

However, this past weekend, I was down for the count with a cold, and so I figured, why not?

What a lovely surprise.

Benedict Cumberbatch brings a bit of vulnerability to this portrayal of Holmes, which allows him to smile a bit and indulge in a laugh or a joke or two with Watson (Martin Freeman…incidentally, who also plays Bilbo Baggins in “The Hobbit”) which makes for a nice chemistry that makes their interplay enjoyable.

I like the mysteries in Sherlock better than those in Elementary.

I like the way Holmes and Watson go about solving the mysteries better in Sherlock.

I like the friendship between Holmes and Watson and I like the relationship between Holmes and Inspector LeStrade who frequently calls upon Sherlock for help solving cases.

What I don’t like is the fact that there have only been two seasons, three ninety-minute episodes per season, and now I have to wait…until November for the new season.

So, if you are looking for smart humor, check out Sherlock.

And in the meantime, I’m open to suggestion for something else I might enjoy and cannot miss.

I’ve been told I should check out “Call the Midwife,” and may give it a try, but I’d love to hear what else you think might be worth a look!

Officially, I’m not done with school yet, as I have two days of training on Monday and Tuesday and graduation on Tuesday night.

However, the kids are done, and even though it’s the weekend, we are already beginning to slide into our summer mode, which I call “Summer Slow.”

Last summer was the first summer I didn’t work since I was in high school, as the cost of putting four kids in a camp outweighed any paycheck I might have earned in the summer.

So, we tightened up the checkbook and made it through.

And we made it through in summer slow mode.

What is summer slow?

It’s a mug of tea on the deck in the morning while Tiny walks around inspecting cicada carcassas, watching the squirrels and chipmunks, starting to play with the outdoor toys.

It’s an impromptu morning walk with the monkeys when they are all up, with no destination in mind and nowhere in particular to rush home to get to.

“Summer Slow” is alternating between playing H.O.R.S.E. and basketball and hockey and badminton with the boys and reading/lifting my head every two seconds for a “Mom! Watch this!”

It’s getting chores done in my own time because my window to get them done has just expanded considerably beyond the 48 hours of weekend I am used to.

It’s going into our Netflix queue and ordering the first two discs of Little House on the Prairie, Season One for our regular summer viewing of the series.

“Summer Slow” is heading to the library to stock up on kids books about summer for Tiny and chapter books for the big kids for a little bit of quiet time at the end of the day.

It’s farmer’s markets, baking from scratch, watermelon dripping from chins.

It’s lemonade and sidewalk chalk and sweaty heads and droopy eyes and a feeling of peace and simplicity.

I love Summer Slow and the monkeys and I have been waiting for these days when we can slow down and just “be.”

It’s time.